


Pulled to the Fire

by Mia_Zeklos



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s02e05 Adam, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 21:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2204244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_Zeklos/pseuds/Mia_Zeklos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because even after all the monsters he has encountered in Torchwood, Ianto's biggest enemy is still himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulled to the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Why, you ask? Because I apparently like to torture the characters I love the most. This is a coda to Adam; just an idea that came up and I decided to write it.  
> The song used is Hilf Mir by Rammstein – or, well, the English version of the lyrics. I hope you like it and, as usual, feedback is most appreciated.

_Every time that I’m alone_

_I’m pulled to the fire_

_It reaches for me, I don’t resist_

_It jumps with claws to my face_

There were memories and there were dreams, but this was something new entirely.

 

Ianto could sense his surroundings; could feel the cold rain on his skin, see the streetlights and hear the screams and the begging. He hadn’t meant to do any harm, he really hadn’t. He hadn’t even realised he was doing it until it was over and it had been like taking an especially addictive drug – he hadn’t realised what the damage and the consequences would be until the thrill from it all had passed.

 

Ianto felt sick. He could remember what killing felt like with a gun, but with his bare hands, especially if it were someone completely innocent? He’d always tried to avoid pointless murders when he could, what was wrong with him now?

 

And yet there it was – another memory. She was so small, so helpless. They all were when compared to him. What could any woman do to fight a six feet two man who was also trained to use his body as a weapon and to stop every resistance in its wake?

 

There was a scream and only when he woke up did Ianto realised that it was his own.

 

**o.O.o**

“Ianto? Ianto, calm down!” He was in a small room and there was a man calling his name. He seemed concerned and yet, as soon as he made to touch him, Ianto moved as quickly as humanly possible on the small bed until his back hit the cold wall.

 

The man let his hand fall by his side, then he tentatively reached up to stroke Ianto’s cheek with his fingertips. It was the gentlest caress Ianto could imagine and, even though he flinched, he didn’t try to escape from it as recognition hit. “Jack?”

 

“Who else?” Jack wrapped an arm around Ianto’s shoulders and brought him closer. “A nightmare, huh?”

 

Ianto nodded numbly. “Yeah, I suppose.”  He buried his head in Jack’s shoulder, trying not to get worried over his own behaviour. Of course this was Jack. They were in his room under the office. Ianto had been here millions of times. How could he have forgotten something like that, even for a while? “Sorry. Not sure what’s wrong with me.”

 

Jack pulled back and smiled, framing Ianto’s face with his hands. “Maybe you’re not getting enough sleep. You’ve been a bit weird all week.”

 

“We all were,” Ianto said, trying to defend himself. “I wasn’t the only one who woke up yesterday with two days of my life missing.”

 

The smile quickly morphed into a frown and Jack eyes searched his lover’s face carefully, his eyes suddenly full of concern he wasn’t even trying to hide. “Ianto, that was three days ago.”

 

“Oh.” Right. Of course it was. He _knew_ it was. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

 

Jack started making soothing circles over Ianto’s cheekbones. “You have nothing to apologise for,” he assured gently. “I’m just worried, that’s all. Your memory is scarily accurate most of the time.”

 

Ianto nodded and lowered his head. “Like I said, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. You go back to sleep, yeah? I’ll come in a minute.”

 

Ianto abruptly stood up from the bed and made his way up the ladder quickly, ignoring the look that Jack sent his way or the questions he tried to ask before Ianto disappeared up in the office.

 

Once upstairs, Ianto started rummaging through the stuff he’d left in Jack’s office last night. His coat and his waistcoat were there, his phone was thrown on one of the chairs – he made a mental note to pick it up before one of the two of them sat on it in the morning by accident – but he couldn’t locate what he actually needed until his gaze wondered down to the workstations downstairs.

 

He’d left his diary on the sofa and – since it didn’t seem like the wisest decisions – that was enough to worry him, but it was nothing compared to what he experienced upon opening the last page that had something written on it.

 

_I know what you’re trying to do. Don’t. Just don’t._

It was his own handwriting, Ianto was sure of it, and that made it worse, because he couldn’t remember writing this. _Any_ of this. It was ridiculous; after all, Jack had been right. He remembered everything. His mind was full of every little thing he had ever tried to memorise – and even he had to admit that it was quite a lot – and he knew he’d never forget something like that.

 

No, over-exhaustion wasn’t the problem. He wasn’t even tired, no matter how much work he had in both the archives and on the field. He was used to getting about five hours of sleep at most and it was a schedule that suited him just fine; nothing had changed about it. So Ianto did the only thing reasonable.

 

He ignored his own advice and opened the page before that.

 

_I knew it. You wouldn’t even listen to yourself, would you? No surprise. After all, you’ve done it four times already._

Ianto froze where he was, unable to turn the page again or react in any way. He had to call Jack, of course – that was the only thing that would follow the protocol. If you don’t remember who you are, don’t remember things in general, have suddenly changed your appearance or species without realising it – contact the boss. He or she would know what to do.

 

 

Ianto flipped another page and found a longer paragraph, still with his writing, but it was more frantic now, as if he’d been in a hurry. _I don’t have time to explain, but if you’re reading this and don’t remember when you’ve written it, leave it. Please. Go on with whatever it is you’re doing right now. Don’t start looking into this. Get it in your big stubborn head that not everything needs to be discovered._

_Who am I kidding? Of course you’ll keep searching anyway. Look, the Retcon’s in the nightstand by your bed at home. I told Jack that it’s for a case. I left five there, so count them and don’t get any more after you finish them. Just don’t dig deeper into this._

And suddenly, the memory of writing this – these very words – started shaping itself in Ianto’s head. He’d been scared, then. So scared. He’d tried to warn himself, knowing full well that he’d try to get information about it again and again – because now he remembered the other two as well, especially the last one, fuelled by desperation. _Don’t. Just don’t._

And he knew why not. He _remembered_.

 

It all came back to him like a tidal wave and he was too stunned and disarmed to actually fight the not-quite-memory as it flooded his head. He didn’t want it because it didn’t feel his, even if the point of view was his own. He could hear and see and almost touch everything that had surrounded him all of a sudden and all he wanted was to push it away, throw it out of his mind.

_Adam_. The name alone was enough and suddenly Ianto found himself back into the Hub, his face covered in sweat and his hands shaking when he looked down at the diary.

 

He knew now – which also meant that he knew why he was supposed not to remember. Because even a thought could bring Adam back; the smallest hint of a memory could breathe existence back into him and really, it was no wonder he had given Ianto of all people the strongest implanted memories. He was the most likely suspect to remember it in some form afterwards – besides Gwen, perhaps, but Ianto had spent two years in Torchwood London being ‘trained’ for Retcon resistance – and also the only one who wouldn’t keep his nose out of it.

 

Ianto took a deep breath. So here he was, now. He was the only one who kept count on the Retcon so it wouldn’t be a problem to take it right now without anyone even noticing, but that wasn’t the point. If he could, he had to make this the last time.

 

He returned to Jack’s office and took out a pill – the weakest one, only enough to erase the last several hours – closed his eyes and tipped his head back, washing it down with a cup of water he found on the desk, then went down the stairs to find Jack still wide awake, staring at him with worry painted over his features.

 

“Jack.” There was no one to hear him and yet he spoke as quietly as possible. “I want you to do something for me.”

 

“What’s the matter?” Jack asked immediately, something that closely resembling panic suddenly appearing in his eyes. Ianto took the Captain’s hand in his own and gripped it tightly. “Just listen to me. When I wake up tomorrow morning, don’t mention any of this to me. Just do it,” he added hastily when Jack opened his mouth to speak. “I can’t explain, I really can’t, but it’s for the best. Just don’t tell me anything. We were at the restaurant, we came here and went to bed. Can you do that for me?”

 

“Not without knowing what’s happening to you,” Jack spoke after several seconds of silence in which he apparently thought the information through. “Just tell me. What could possibly happen?”

 

“More than you can imagine.” When there was no response, Ianto stared Jack straight in the eyes. “Jack, do you trust me?”

 

“Always,” Jack replied immediately and Ianto tried not to let his surprise show. He hadn’t expected anything so definite.

 

“Because now I need you to trust me more than ever.” Ianto didn’t look away as he tried to get the idea into Jack’s mind. “Please,” he added quietly and his lover raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t typical of Ianto to beg for anything and the two or three times Jack had heard him doing it had been more than terrifying.

 

“Okay,” he said at last, nodding in agreement. “Good. Whatever it is, you’ve got it dealt with, right?”

 

Ianto smiled and squeezed his hand once more before letting go. “Of course.” He sighed and stood up, making his way up the ladder. “One more thing to deal with.”

 

He pulled out the chair of Jack’s desk and sat down, fishing a pen out of the mess and opening his diary. Just below his last note, he started writing, his spidery scrawl quickly filling the rest of the page which the past version of him had hoped would stay untouched.

 

_Ianto, if you’re reading this...._


End file.
